Relentless
by Aya-kun Rose
Summary: Stubbornness runs in the department. Pre-PF


A long tunnel stretched on before her, straight and featureless, quiet but for the sound of her panting reflecting off the concave walls all around. She ran, relentless, breath coming ragged through the barbed wire cinching around her lungs, unable to stop for the fear of being left behind.

He was out there, somewhere farther ahead in the darkness. She could feel his mocking laughter in her mind, egging her on, and she refused to pause, to falter, to give him the final victory. It was only a matter of time until she caught up. She just had to keep running.

And running.

Running.

Caitlyn woke with a phlegmy cough, chest tight and back sour from sleeping hunched over at her desk. Her heart jackhammered as though her endless chase had been a physical one, her limbs stiff and weak. She dragged herself upright in her chair, reaching for a handkerchief and trying to dispel the nagging sense that C could be lurking just out of sight, laughing at her pitiful state.

A voice cut through the stuffy stillness of the office, a real voice rather than whatever her imagination could provide for her elusive fugitive, and it nearly caused her overworked heart to fail completely.

"You were having a fever dream," Vi drawled, a veiled bite to the words. She leaned against the closed door, arms folded, eyes boring heavy holes into the Sheriff.

_It's Vi, it's just Vi_. Caitlyn struggled to regain composure, somewhat abashed at being caught out by her subordinate but also displeased with herself for letting it happen in the first place. She took a deep breath to get herself sorted, but something wet caught in her throat and she broke down coughing, having to turn away from Vi with the handkerchief kept firmly in place.

Vi didn't budge. Caitlyn felt those eyes on her the entire time.

"Everything's fine here, officer," she said when she was able. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, the most convincing lies are hung on frames of truth, and leadership is all about appearing to have things under control. "Your presence isn't required."

Irritation sparked in her chest when she swiveled back to her abandoned paperwork and saw that Vi hadn't moved an muscle. Stubborn, this one, nearly too stubborn.

She fought the urge to clear her raspy throat, instead leveling as commanding a gaze as she could manage at the enforcer. Vi didn't even flinch, something restrained hiding in her eyes. Something soft and warm buried under her cool stone exterior. Catilyn's resolve twisted, flickered; she was going to have to do something about this one, and soon. It wasn't – wouldn't be – professional to engage with Vi on the level she so blatantly sought to reach.

Not that Caitlyn was even considering stooping to fraternize with her subordinates, of course. Especially not ones that watched her sleep and showed gruff concern for her health. It didn't change the fact that if it had been anyone else, Caitlyn would have thrown them out the door without a second thought.

"Really, Vi," she snapped, her sudden confliction adding a dose of acid to her tone. "I don't need a keeper. There are far more important things for you to be doing right now."

She dropped her eyes to her desk, taking power back where she could, refusing to allow Vi the impression that this was a conversation in which any input (read: argument) from the enforcer was necessary or wanted. She even forced herself to read the names on the files, all the time itching to reach into her bottom desk drawer for the thick portfolio labeled simply "C."

"You're not a machine, you know."

Caitlyn put a hand to her forehead before looking up with a firm shake of her head, "Not now, Vi—"

Vi's voice rose over hers, shocking Caitlyn with her brash familiarity. "If you were a machine, I could fix you," she said, and as their eyes meet that time, a vulnerable tremor stuttered through the air between them.

Quite taken aback, Caitlyn's face heated with a mixture of surprise and illness and second-hand embarrassment. Her mouth opened but it took her a minute to grapple with what precisely she wanted to say to that.

"It's not your position to do anything of the sort," she said eventually, enunciating so that her exact meaning would not be misunderstood. "_Officer_."

At that, some of Vi's stoic front crumbled, her chin dipping and the toe of her boot scuffing Caitlyn's polished floor. "It could be," she said. Stubborn. So damn stubborn.

"You're dismissed." The words came cool but Caitlyn's face felt aflame. Never in all her years had she been so affronted. So appalled by such forward behavior. So confused at that little silken voice at her shoulder that whispered "_she's right, it could be_."

She almost didn't dare to lift her eyes from the desk, afraid at what she might see reflected back on Vi's face, and so sensed rather than saw the woman come to attention and raise a ridiculously large salute in her direction. The door creaked open; Caitlyn's fountain pen became eminently fascinating. Vi stepped out into the hallway; Caitlyn held her breath and began sorting papers into alphabetical order.

"And you're not a goddamned bloodhound, either, Caitlyn. A day off once in a while won't kill you, but working full-tilt like this just might."

Caitlyn's head shot up in a flash of impotent fury, the pen nearly snapping in her hand, but the door had slammed shut before she could respond. She sat there, staring at the reverse of her name on the frosted glass, feeling a hundred things at once and none of them positive.

After a full five minutes, she unclenched her fists, stacked her paperwork neatly and slid it into the top drawer, and stood. Only a few time-sensitive things to review went into her bag. Her hat and coat were waiting for her on the stand, and the door latch clicked quietly when she locked up the office.

This time, when Vi's voice shot through the air like a dart, she didn't jump.

"Heading out early, then, eh Sheriff?"

Caitlyn successfully drew a full breath, which rattled all the way down. She turned politely, addressing Vi with a slight nod. As Sheriff, she owed all her officers a certain _professional_ civility. She owed it to this one especially. "I am, yes. Thank you for your concern."

Vi's posture was all loose carelessness, an evidence box tucked under one arm and a stained mug fitted like a thimble around the tip of one oversized pinky. But her eyes blazed with a deep-seated satisfaction. Caitlyn wondered if she'd had the props lying in wait and how many times she'd been prepared to circle the hallway, just to see if their celebrated leader would break.

"Gotta look after yourself, boss," she said easily, clearly pleased that, in her eyes anyway, she had won this battle. Probably reading too much into it, as well. "We can keep things together without you for a day or two."

Caitlyn's smile was firm. It wasn't like Vi had the Sheriff wrapped around her finger – she shot a cynical look to Vi's mug – this was Caitlyn merely owning up to the fact that Vi'd had something sensible to say for once. "A day. Just one. That's all I'll need." She nodded again and made to pass Vi, who shuffled back a step to see her on her way.

"Hey, and if there's anything else you need—"

"Thank you, Vi—"

"—you know my number."

"_Thank_ you, Vi."

The enforcer chuckled, low, and Caitlyn was glad to have her back turned to hide her grudging smile. Vi certainly didn't need the encouragement.

A day out of the office would be a good change, she told herself. She'd be the reed that bends rather than the oak that breaks, stubborn streak be damned.

Besides, she could still find ways to be productive within the comfort of her own home, with no distractions and a hot cup of honey and lemon for her throat. She reached into the outside pocket of her bag and brushed thoughtful fingers over the tired and worn portfolio. Vi would never need to know.


End file.
